Page 53 of Beg, Borrow, or Steal

I swallow, feeling sick. Turns out I was unprepared for those sorts of insightful comments. “What do you mean it’s just over? Is there supposed to be a song and dance to conclude it?” My voice has never been so high-pitched.

“She leaves his house in a rush after. Why not have them lounge around a bit and snuggle? Give them some emotional intimacy in that moment at least.”

I want to gag on that wordsnuggle.“Because…she’s busy. She has places to be. People to see, Jack. She doesn’t have all day to lie around in his arms and swoon over him. She’s an independent woman who wanted sex, got it, and needed to get going.”

“But that’s not strictly true, is it? She loves him all through this story, even if she doesn’t realize it at first. She wants him for more than just sex, obviously. So why not give your readers more here?”

“Maybe she doesn’t know how, okay?”

I think it’s the sudden clip to my words that finally clues Jack in to my mood. Understanding touches his face. Softens it. He looks at me from behind those glasses as he sits back in his seat, angling his body in my direction as he drapes his arm over the back of his chair. “I see now.”

“You see nothing,” I reply, snapping the manuscript pages over so they’re in a nice, neat pile again. Show’s over. Case closed.

He grins. “Why don’t you snuggle after sex, Emily?”

He could at least have had the decency to ask me if I do or not. But of course he just acts like he already knows. Like I am some obvious, garish painting whose meaning he immediately understands.

“It’s a waste of time. I’ve never seen the purpose of it.”

“The purpose of it is comfort. Pleasure. Connection.”

“I don’t need any of those things.”

“Have youeversnuggled after sex?” Why are we saying the wordsnuggleso much? It’s a silly-sounding word. It should be stripped from the English language.

“No.”

“Not even in a long-term relationship?”

I tap my finger on the table. “These questions are pointless, and they have nothing to do with my story.”

“They’re not pointless. It’s important to interrogate where our words are coming from. When we write, we are putting our own thoughts and feelings down, yes, but also wearing someone else’s skin for a time.”Jack definitely just saidwe,didn’t he? Does this mean he writes too?I don’t get a chance to dwell on it because he continues on quickly. “You might not like snuggling, but Kate, your main character, does. That’s why the scene felt so strange to me. She’s so full of feeling and then suddenly, we get to arguably one of the most important scenes in the book and suddenly she’s one and done. It’s important to question whether you’re putting too much of your own experience in, or if it’s organic to Kate’s character.”

I meet his gaze even though my skin burns with embarrassment. I force myself to nod toward the manuscript. “I guess you could say that, yes, in a nutshell, this is what I’m used to. I’ve never had a partner who…” I grit my teeth to get through saying this out loud. “Well, the only real relationship I’ve ever had was in highschool, so I don’t think that counts. And as an adult, if I’ve wanted a good time, I’ve had to make it happen. And then after…I’ve never seen any point in hanging around with any of them. I have a fantastic mattress. Incredible sheets. I like things how I like them, and I don’t see the need to lie around playing pretend that I’m a romantic leading lady when I constantly feel like a side character. So yes, when I hook up, it’s for a specific purpose. Hopefully he has a good enough time that he’ll call me again even though I don’t like to cuddle, I’m not flexible with my schedule, and I insist on cracking the eggs in the morning because I can’t stand shells in the scramble. Are you happy now?”

There. I said it. My humiliating words fall like smoke bombs in the room, replacing our oxygen with something unbreathable.

Jack’s gaze sharpens on my face, his jaw flexing. “I’m the farthest from happy I could ever be,” he says quietly. “I hate everything about what you just said. Especially the part where these assholes are out there taking from you and making you feel like there’s parts of you that you should be ashamed of.”

I stand, my chair scraping the floor, and walk back into the kitchen, pulling a carton of strawberries out of the fridge and carrying them to the sink to wash them. “Don’t pity me, Jack. I have a good life. So what if my sex life is lackluster? I’ll learn to write better scenes that are less stilted regardless. But unless you truly have some constructive criticism on how to improve the scene, this topic is closed.”

I flick on the faucet and dump the strawberries into a colander to run under the water. It was a bad idea asking for his input. I didn’t even consider that he would take a magnifying glass to my real life. And this lingering feeling is why I don’t want a relationship. I’m fine with one and done. I am fine with never liking anyone enough to even slightly consider snuggling. Coming back homealone is so much more preferable to always stressing and wondering if I’m going to be enough for someone or if I’m going to say too much, show too much of myself, and scare them away when I’m just getting comfortable.

I’m lost in thought, washing the strawberries so thoroughly they are practically reborn. And that’s why I don’t hear Jack walk in behind me.

“Okay.” His voice carries gently over my shoulder. “If you want constructive criticism, then let me show you what I mean.”

My breath catches as his hands enter my field of vision and bracket me on either side of the sink. “There’s not a damn thing wrong with you, Emily, or the way you have sex. Not asingle thing.And when I say I’m upset, I mean that I’m upset you haven’t had the kind of attention you deserve. You don’t owe any man anything—and if he doesn’t know from the first second of talking to you that he’s the luckiest son of a bitch in the world for getting any attention from you at all, he deserves to be run over with a truck.” He reaches forward and cuts the water. Touches my hip with his hand and gently turns me to face him. “I have practical ideas for your scene. If you want them.”

Oh.

He steps back and gives me space to consider. “Yes, tell me your ideas.”

He shakes his head. “I want toshow youthe difference between your scene as it stands now, and what I think could be more meaningful…to the readers.”

“Show me?” I say, wishing my voice sounded more confident than it does. “Are you offering to…have sex with me right now?”

“Not quite. I’m not sure our…friendship…could withstand something like that. But I think we could stage-block it out. I’ll walk you through the overview. Maybe it’ll help you focus on the emotional side I’m trying to evoke and potentially give you adifferent perspective to write with. One you’ve maybe not experienced firsthand before.”

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